


The Demon Within

by TanyaReed



Series: Demon Within/Relic Hunter [1]
Category: Relic Hunter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/pseuds/TanyaReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2006 or 2007.  This is one of a pair of mirror stories that take place in completely different universes that have the same theme but entirely different outcomes.  One of the stories is a story of pain and madness and one is a story of love and hope.  It's pretty obvious from the beginning which is which.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon Within

Caves. Lately, it seemed to always come down to caves.

Sydney Fox contemplated this as she carefully made her way down the handcrafted tunnel. Behind her, she could hear her assistant, Nigel Bailey, puffing as he struggled to keep up with her. She listened to him absently, alert for signs he was in danger, even as her eyes scanned for traps.

“How much further, do you think?” Nigel asked, his voice hushed.

“It can't be far now.”

They had been searching for the Demon's Heart for four days. It was a stone reported to have great powers—if one was willing to give up part of his or her soul to use them. Sydney just wanted to put it in the university museum and maybe have the chance to study it if she ever had a spare minute or two.

She knew, however, that wasn't the case for Victor Martin, the rival relic hunter that had been dogging their steps ever since they'd started the hunt. Victor and Sydney went way back, and in her mind using the stone couldn't make him any worse. Victor was a snake, worse than Dallas or Kurt or Stewie, who were adorable bumblers. To Sydney, Victor ranked right up there almost even with Fabrice DeViega. 

But Victor would not get the stone.

Sydney and Nigel were so close that there was no way that Victor could reach the Demon's Heart first.

“Nigel, watch your step. Irregular floor pattern.”

“See them, Syd.”

She wasn't surprised. The two of them had been hunting together for almost three years. From the first, she had known he would grow into a great relic hunter, and she hadn't been disappointed. Though naïve, Nigel had learned quickly. Over time, he had become many things. Foremost among them were a great relic hunter, a dependable ally, and, most importantly of all to Sydney, dearest friend. She could no longer imagine the hunt without him.

It scared her sometimes, the thought that he might leave her for another job. Besides occasional grumblings about a quiet little teaching job, he hadn't even given any indication that he'd even considered it, but she dreaded the day when he would.

Her mind had wandered, but it snapped back into focus at Nigel's panicked, “Sydney!”

“What?”

“Duck!”

She took it on faith that he didn't literally mean a duck as he had the last time he said it to her and dropped to the ground. She heard a whooshing sound over her head, right through where she had been standing seconds before.

When she was sure the stone was done, she got gracefully to her feet saying gratefully, “Thanks, Nige.”

He smiled at her. “Any time.”

They hadn't gone much further when something caught Sydney's eye through the gloom. 

“Nigel, look.”

About thirty feet away stood a huge block of carved stone. Running her light along it, Sydney could see depictions that made her skin prickle. Someone's vision of demons leered at her as they tortured victims and performed horrible rights. Even from so far away, the images were clear and haunting.

“Syd?” Nigel asked quietly from beside her elbow.

He was now standing so close, she could touch him if she shifted slightly.

“I think we're in the right place,” she told him softly.

Carefully, she moved forward, Nigel still close behind. Her senses were alert. If a trap were sprung, she would feel it and taste it as well as hear it and see it. Grimly, she waited for her intuition to tell her something was coming.

It was this sense that warned her of the arrows as they approached the dais. Nigel must have heard her sharp intake of breath because he dropped and rolled at the same time she did. Sydney was foolishly proud that she hadn't even had to warn him.

“I wonder how many surprises are left,” Nigel said breathlessly, getting to his feet.

Sydney shook her head, trying to wipe the dust and grime off of her clothes. She gave it up after a moment, deciding that black was definitely as bad as white. 

They were now ten feet away from the carved stone and, if they were lucky, the relic.

Nigel reached the dais first. He bent to study the carvings, which were even more detailed than it had appeared.

“These are amazing,” he said.

Sydney looked at them again and grimaced. “Yeah, if you like maiming and torture.”

“But look at the detail.”

Nigel leaned forward to touch one of the carvings.

“Nigel, stop!” Sydney said sharply. He was so used to obeying her that he went completely still.

“What is it?”

“The saying, remember? The stone is protected by stone. What if it's not just talking about the dais? What if the chamber is rigged to come down on us if we touch the stone?”

Nigel quickly snatched back his hand. “Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“There must be a way of getting it out after they got it in there. There's always a way.”

“A puzzle of some sort.” he got to his feet and tapped his lip. “Something that will release the Demon's Heart without releasing the ceiling.”

Sydney circled the dais for a full five minutes, looking at it from every angle.

“The key to the heart is encased in stone. A heart for a heart. Stone protected by stone.” She heard Nigel mumble to himself, “But what can that mean, and should there be more?”

“Say that again.”

He looked at her, startled. “What?”

“What was the saying again?”

“The key to the heart is encased in stone. A heart for a...”

“Here!”

Sydney couldn't help the grin that spread over her face as her eyes locked on the carving she had been seeking. A vicious demon holding a human heart in its hand.

“But...but what about 'stone protecting stone'?”

“This is the key, Nigel. Let's see what happens.”

Sydney knelt and gently pushed on the heart in the carving. There was a soft click, and Nigel jumped back in alarm. A crack appeared in the top of the stone, and it slid, in two separate pieces, aside.

Sydney stood and peered in the top, her grin growing wider as she spied a dark red jewel about the size of her fist lying on a piece of completely smooth grey stone.

“We found it!”

He hurried forward to look at their find. She could feel his excitement and knew there was a smile on his face. Nigel always smiled when they found a relic. He might bitch and complain, whine and throw his hands in the air, but when it came right down to it, he loved the hunt as much as she did, and he felt the same elation when they stumbled across a truly spectacular relic. 

He reached out for it, and once more Sydney staid his hand.

“I think this is where stone protecting stone comes in..”

“What do you mean?”

“Removing the heart could be the last trap.”

“Weights?”

She nodded.

“Do we have anything to replace it with?”

“We'd better, after we've come this far.”

The two of them began rummaging through their packs. Sometimes, Sydney felt as if her satchel were related to Mary Poppin's carpet bag, it held so much. Even so, there didn't seem to be anything heavy enough to place on the stone.

“I've got nothing. Nigel?”

He dug through his pack with more fervor, his brow creased in concentration. After a moment, he triumphantly pulled something out and handed it to her. It was a small, round radio, a little heavier than Sydney would have expected. She weighed it in her hand and decided it would probably work.

Gently, she reached into the stone box. Nigel stood back to give her room as she placed the radio inside and carefully drew the Demon's Heart out.

Sydney listened intently for ominous creakings and was relieved when she didn't hear any.

“Okay?” Nigel asked.

“I think so.”

“Great, you've found it.”

The voice made Sydney whirl, clutching the relic to her chest. Behind her stood Victor Martin, a cruel, satisfied little smile on his face. He was huge, and the dust and grime from the tunnels clung to him even worse than it did Sydney. It made him look almost like a large child who'd spent an afternoon playing in the mud. There was nothing childlike in his cold blue eyes, however.

“Martin,” Sydney spat out, cursing herself for leading their rival right to the relic.

“Who else? I knew you'd find it for me eventually. You are the best. Now, if you'll just give me the Heart, we can all get out of here and go get a shower and a meal.”

“You can't have it,” she answered him defiantly. “It belongs in a museum, and I intend to see that it gets there.”

A spark of cold anger flickered in his eyes, though the smile didn't leave his face. “Oh, I think you are, Sydney. The Heart isn't going to a museum where its magic will be hidden away. It's going to be used and enjoyed.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “By you?”

Sydney was determined not to let Victor have the stone, even if she had to bring the cave down around their ears. Victor Martin was bad enough. If the rumors about the stone were true, Victor Martin and the Heart would be madness. Her thoughts ran quickly to the box. She wondered if releasing the final trap would kill her and Nigel. Dying wasn't part of the plan.

“That's none of your concern.” He held out one hand. The other reached into his belt and drew out a small hand gun.

Sydney threw a quick glance at Nigel and saw his face had paled considerably. She then eyed the gun before once more looking into Martin's face.

“I'm not giving you the relic, Victor.”

“You're going to give me the Heart. If you don't, I'll shoot your assistant.”

Sydney fought the urge to look at Nigel again. She still did not move to do what Martin said.

“Sydney?” Nigel asked quietly.

She tried to will him reassurance as her mind scrambled for a plan. Martin was quick for his size, and he was too far away for Sydney to disarm him. Frantically, her mind went through all the possibilities.

“Give me the relic, now.” Impatience tinged her rival's voice, and the smile dropped from his face.

Admitting to herself that she had no choice, Sydney was about to pass over the stone when Martin's hand moved swiftly, taking her by surprise. She didn't have time to do more than scream. It was ripped from her throat as she tried to cross the distance between her and Nigel to protect his body with hers.

“Nigel!”

The shots reached him before Sydney could, and she watched as two bullets slammed into Nigel's chest, throwing him backwards.

And the world stopped.

Sydney's whole body went completely numb, and nerveless fingers dropped a relic that was no longer important. As if someone had pressed a slow motion button, she watched Nigel fall and heard him cry out her name. It seemed to take a lifetime for his body to reach the ground and for the sound of its fall to reach her ears. 

At the sound, she found she could move again. Quickly, she crossed the remaining space and dropped to her knees beside Nigel. Part of her mind registered the sound of Martin grabbing the relic and rushing out of the cavern. She didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the fact that Nigel had been shot. Her whole universe had shrunk to contain only the two of them.

Two red stains were spreading across his chest, but he was still breathing.

Thankful for that miracle, she whispered, “Nigel?”

“Syd?” His eyes were dull, as if he couldn't see her, and droplets of sweat dappled his forehead.

Fear clenched Sydney's insides so tightly that she wanted to throw up. She forced it down, swallowing hard, before reaching a gentle hand to his face. Her fingertips traced his cheek. 

“I'm here, Nigel. It's okay. You're okay.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” she asked incredulously.

“Sorry...sorry for not being...”

“No, I'm sorry,” she whispered fiercely. “This is my fault. I should never have brought you here.”

He smiled slightly then, his lips too red in a bloodless face. “Proud to be your assistant....Always proud...you believe in me...”

In her mind, Sydney quickly calculated the distance to the nearest doctor. It was far. Way too far. Even so, her heart didn't want to admit defeat.

“I've got to get you to a doctor.”

“No time...Sit with me...don't want to...be alone...”

His voice was getting weaker, and the stain was spreading at an alarming rate.

“I'm here, Nigel,” she said again. 

Letting go of her last hope, she brought Nigel up into her arms.

“Thank...you...”

His voice was so weak now that Sydney couldn't even be sure she heard it. Determined for Nigel's last experience to be of love, Sydney started to slowly rock. She felt him struggle to breathe. She heard the blood rattling in his chest. Then, she felt the last breath leave him.

Still she rocked, holding him close. She didn't dare to stop rocking him. If she stopped, if she let him go, it would all be real. Nigel would be gone.

Sydney didn't know if she could live in a world without Nigel. Just three years before, she hadn't even known the man existed. She thought her life was complete. Now, she couldn't imagine her life without him. He had come to her shy, clumsy, and a little innocent. But she had seen something in him. Underneath his self doubt, there had been a great relic hunter just waiting to be turned loose. Together, they had become an unbeatable team.

Until today.

She couldn't go back to that life, the one without him. Now that she knew what it was like to share the hunt and, for all purposes, her life, doing it alone would seem hollow.

So, she rocked and went on rocking. Nigel wasn't dead. She was holding him. He was still there.

Eventually, Sydney came back to herself and realized that she was cramped and sore, and the ground beneath her was cold and damp. She was chilled and her skin and clothes and hair were stiff from dried blood. Cradled in her arms was the lifeless body of her best friend. She had no idea how long she had been holding him, letting the soothing rocking take over her mind, but she knew it had been hours.

Carefully, she drew away from him, staring at his peaceful and gentle face. She touched it reverently, letting memories of its expressions fill her mind. She knew them all. She had loved this face. The face, and the man that went with it. She loved him as her best friend, as the person she could tell anything to, as the person she wanted by her side for the rest of her life. And she hadn't told him. 

Now, she'd never be able to. It was all gone. His beautiful smile. Solving ancient puzzles together in the middle of the night. The trust and faith she never had to question. His gentle touch. Gone. Gone forever.

Because of Victor Martin.

And then the rage came.

XXX

Karen Petrusky sat at her desk diligently working. Around her, the office was quiet and still as it always was when Sydney and Nigel were away. That silence had bothered her in the beginning but after nine months it was just another accepted part of the job.

Having her bosses away was not an excuse for slacking, at least not for Karen. She both liked and admired Sydney and Nigel, and there was no way she was going to do anything to make them disappointed in her.

In fact, she was doing research on the Demon's Heart, the current relic hunt, when the phone rang. It was so unexpected, and the history of the Heart was so creepy, that it made her jump. 

She let out a nervous giggle before reaching out and grabbing the receiver. “Ancient Studies.”

“Hello. Am I calling the right place?” The voice was soft, with a cultured British accent. “I'm looking for Professor Sydney Fox's office.”

“You've reached it, but, I'm sorry, Professor Fox is out of the country right now.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I'm looking for Karen. Karen...” There was a slight puase. “Petrusky, I believe.”

The voice was unfamiliar, so Karen blurted out a puzzled, “I'm Karen Petrusky.”

“Preston. Preston Bailey.”

“Nigel's brother?”

“Yes.” The man's voice cracked at the word, and an ominous feeling settled like a stone in Karen's belly.

“Has...has something happened to Nigel?”

“I'm afraid so.” Now the man's voice sounded close to tears. “Karen, Nigel's dead.”

Karen let out a tortured gasp and almost dropped the phone. Nigel couldn't be dead!

“What happened?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice under control even as tears sprang to her eyes.

“I'm not sure. I'll tell you what the Embassy told me. You deserve to know that much. A couple of days ago, a woman showed up at the English Embassy in Endostan. She was carrying my brother's body in her arms. Nigel had been shot. She gave them the name of his murderer and gave implicit instructions to have Nigel sent home to me. They try to question her further, and...”

“And what?'

“She fought her way out and disappeared.”

“Sydney,” Karen whispered.

“I believe so. Have you heard from her?”

“Not for days. The last time she called, they had zeroed in on the relic.”

“They must have found it...and someone must have found them.”

“When,” Karen had to swallow hard to get the question out, “when is the funeral?”

“The day after tomorrow. I'll ring you again once the details are finalized.”

“I'd appreciate that. Thanks, Preston.”

As she hung up the phone, a million thoughts whirled through her mind. Where was Sydney? Was she okay? Karen knew how close Sydney and Nigel were...had been, she corrected herself.

That thought made the lump once more come to her throat, and this time she couldn't fight the tears and pain. Nigel was dead. Dear, sweet Nigel. And Sydney was out there, alone and in even more pain than Karen. It was all so unfair.

A sudden cramp in Karen's stomach had her reaching for her garbage can. She just managed to get it under her chin before losing all of her breakfast. Her stomach clenched and heaved until there was nothing left but an empty feeling of grief.

Karen slid to the floor, resting her cheek against the cool wood of her desk. She closed her eyes, trying to force her rebellious stomach into submission. And still, the silent tears dripped down her face, watering the carpet with her pain.

XXX

Sydney sat in her hotel room, her body numb and her mind racing. Using her skills at finding what was lost, she had been able to track Martin as he traveled to three different cities. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to catch up with him, and, like water, he slipped through her fingers.

This only served to feed her anger. Not that it needed to be fed. It was self-sustaining—sometimes raging as hot as a blue-white piece of metal, tinging her vision with red; sometimes banked and smoldering, offering her hours of rational thought. It was in these hours that she thought of Nigel.

She missed everything about him, from the glint in his eye when he was solving a difficult puzzle to the way he wore his shirt. All his quirks and habits were stuck in Sydney's mind, and sometimes that picture of him was so real she could almost reach out and touch him. 

It had been only three days, but those three days seemed like a lifetime. Every time she turned around, she expected him to be there, and when he wasn't his death would rip through her all over again.

She had only felt this tearing pain in her gut two other times in her life. The first was when DeViega had murdered Alastair Newell, the second when her mother passed away. Agony ate away at her, trying to overwhelm her and shatter the wall she had so carefully built around her private soul throughout the years. Only one thing kept the hurt at bay—the all consuming rage. Sydney welcomed the rage, fed it, preferring anything over the torture of grief. If she concentrated on hating Victor Martin, she didn't have to think about losing Nigel.

At ten, she had been a child; at eleven, she could not fight the disease that ate her mother from the inside out. At thirty-three, she could and would kill the man who had taken her best friend. She would kill him brutally and without mercy. Her knife would slice through his flesh. She would feel the life leave his body as the blood left his veins. 

Sydney thoughtfully reached down into her boot and withdrew her knife. She turned it in the evening light shining through the window, watching the glint as the metal caught the sun. With a twisted smile, she slowly drew her thumb along the blade. It was so sharp that a bead of blood followed in its wake. The knife had served her well, but had never taken a life when another option was available. 

Until now.

Deep in the back of her mind, she knew that rage was driving her across a line she could never recross. She ignored this part of her, the one trying to be her conscience, as she had often ignored things she didn't want to hear.

Twice before, she had drawn her knife to take a life in cold blood. Two times, rage and hatred had gripped her, awakening an unquenchable need for revenge, and two times she had been given a chance to avenge Newell. Both times, something had stopped her. Nigel. There was no doubt in her mind that if he hadn't been there, believing in her and her ability to follow the right path, DeViega would have been dead at her hand twice over.

But Nigel wasn't here now. She wouldn't have to face his disappointment and disillusionment. Martin had taken him from her—taken her reason, taken her strength, taken her conscience. He had taken everything, and the line between right and wrong was blurred at her feet.

Yes, he had taken everything from her, and all she could take would be his life. But he would die. She would see his blood spill out and feel it wash away her pain. She didn't care what happened to her afterward. It would be enough to know that Nigel's death had been avenged.

Sydney twirled the knife in her fingers, little noticing that the room was growing as black as her thoughts. As twilight darkened to night, she became lost in those thoughts and didn't even bother to get up to turn on a light.

XXX

Karen was growing frantic. It had been over twenty-four hours since Preston's call, and she still hadn't been able to find Sydney. She had tried the cell phone and the satellite phone at least a million times.

It was possible that Sydney didn't have either of the phones with her, but that went against everything Karen knew about the relic hunter. It was also possible that she had whichever was with her turned off or that she had no signal. Whatever the reason was, Karen couldn't reach her.

A cold ball of worry weighed like lead in Karen's stomach. It warred with her grief over Nigel and she didn't know which would collapse her first. Of course, she couldn't really collapse. With Sydney incommunicado, someone had to retain control of the office. If not Karen, who would accept the well wishers, the curious, the morbid, the flowers, and the cards? She couldn't do anything else for Sydney or Nigel, but she could do this. She'd do it if it killed her.

Now, she sat at her desk with eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and from weeping. The phone and door had finally fallen silent for a moment, and Karen could actually take a breath. It was a shaky one, but she managed to get it in and out of her lungs. 

“Sydney, where are you?” she whispered, fighting the impulse to drop her face into her hands and once more begin to weep. She was stronger than that. Who had spent the two years before getting the job as Sydney's assistant taking care of her brother after her mother was killed by a teenage drunk driver? Who still took care of that little boy every day as if he were her own son? If Karen could live through that, she could live through anything—even the loss of Sydney and Nigel. But it hurt. Even though she had only been Sydney's assistant for nine months, it felt like she had lost family.

She sniffled but managed not to cry, though tears pressed against her eyelids. She didn't want any of the people coming to offer condolences to see her cry. Sydney would want her to be strong.

Even so, Karen knew that as soon as her day was over, she would head home fighting tears. Once there, she would make sure Cory had all he needed, then get in the tub. There, she would find her solace, and she would finally let the tears come. Alone in the comforting mist, she would once again have a damn good cry.

XXX

The silence of the graveyard was almost deafening. Not even an animal stirred, and the night was as still as the death the surrounded them. Even a small breeze would have lightened the heavy air, but there wasn't even the hint of one.

The darkness was thick and unrelenting. The tiny sliver of a moon was barely visible through blanketing clouds. What light reached them was feeble at best. Gravestones were gray shadows and their distorted lumps looked like some sculpture's discarded clay. The chill in the air completed the oppression.

Sydney felt uneasy as they threaded their way through the stones. Her stomach was clenched, and she had to fight the urge to keep looking over her shoulder.

Beside her walked Nigel. What she could see of him in the scarce moonlight was pale and drawn. He even seemed to be holding his breath.

Both of them knew something was going to happen.

“I don't like this, Syd,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she answered just as quietly.

“It's giving me the crepes.” This had been an inside joke for them since the adventure with the devil doll, and Sydney was glad that he wasn't too afraid to joke.

“Me too.”

“Maybe we should go back.”

Sydney stopped and really looked at him. He was shaking slightly, though she didn't know whether it was from the chill air or fear. There was definitely more here to fear than just the darkness; she could feel it too. Something was out there, waiting. The air was fraught with evil expectation, and the further they went, the thicker it got.

Nigel's eyes looked into hers, and she saw pleading there. Sydney wanted to reach out to him and offer some reassurance, but she wasn't sure she could.

If they didn't push on, they would never know what was waiting.

“It'll be all right, Nigel,” she said finally, wanting to believe it.

He searched her face for a moment, and then nodded. Sydney found herself almost disappointed that he had given in. His refusal would have given her an excuse to stop.

She wasn't used to feeling such cowardice. Angrily, she pushed it down, and they started forward once more. Nigel walked even closer to her than before, but she pretended not to notice.

After a few moments, Nigel spoke up again, “How much further, do you think?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, I wish we'd brought a torch.”

It was strange that they didn't have a flashlight with them. They almost never went anywhere without one. Sydney stopped short, causing Nigel to bump into her.

“Oomph...Sorry, Syd.”

“There's something wrong,” she told him.

“That's what I've been...”

“No, Nigel, there's something really wrong.”

“Like that?” he asked.

He pointed, and her gaze followed his finger. Even in the darkness, she could see the mist rising from the ground and engulfing the stones. If a mist could be said to give off malevolence, this one certainly did. Sydney felt dread grip her as the mist rose and moved swiftly over the ground towards them. It was acting more like water than fog, filling the places it covered with a thick, impenetrable blanket. 

“What happens when it reaches us?” Nigel asked in awe.

“Do we really want to find out? Run!”

The two of them turned and ran, tripping over stones both natural and hand hewn. They scrambled when they fell, but kept at a pace with each other. Their going was slow, so it wasn't any surprise that the fog was faster.

Sydney gasped as it suddenly engulfed them, cutting off sight and sound.

“Nigel!” she screamed, reaching for him in the overwhelming greyness. 

Her hands felt nothing. Frantically, she flailed around, searching. She called his name again, but got no answer. It was as if the fog were all that existed.

Sydney stumbled around, tripping over rocks and barking her shins on gravestones. She ignored these, her only thought being to find Nigel.

She called his name over and over, straining to hear a reply. Still, there was none. She was alone in a silent gray hell.

Nigel was gone.

XXX

“Nigel!” Sydney jerked awake, sitting up, her arms reaching out, and her heart pounding wildly.

It took several moments for her to realize that her clinging blankets were not a smothering mist and the cheerful sun shining on her face from the window was not an unrelenting gray.

She was not wandering around a creepy graveyard. It was not midnight, and Nigel was not lost to the fog. Nigel was dead.

As the awful dream gave way to an even worse reality, pain stabbed Sydney. It felt as if she'd driven her dagger hilt deep into her chest. She'd woken from one nightmare to be thrown into another. And this one, she could not wake from.

Slowly, Sydney dropped her arms. She was alone, and there was no one there to hold. Her hand made a swipe across her forehead, pushing away hair and wiping away sweat. It was shaking. Sydney lowered the hand and stared at it. Being a relic hunter had filled her unconscious mind with enough scary images for five people, so she was no stranger to nightmares. The only difference was that before she had waking up to look forward to. Now, she felt as if it didn't matter if she ever woke up again.

“Martin.”

Saying his name sent a wave of fire through her, burning away fear and sadness and loss. Sydney grabbed hold of the fire, clinging to it with everything she had. When she was satisfied that anger had drown pain, Sydney got out of bed to face the day.

Over the past week, Victor Martin had led her on a not so merry chase through several countries. She always seemed to be just moments behind him, and Sydney didn't know whether it was because he knew she trailed him or he had some specific plan of his own. Either way, it was as annoying as hell. Finally, though, she had a solid lead. One of Victor's known accomplices lived near Sydney's hotel, and if anyone knew who Victor was going to sell the Heart to or where he was going next, it would be Robert Williams.

She took only enough time to shower, dress, comb her hair, and brush her teeth before leaving the hotel. She didn't even bother to eat breakfast; she hadn't had much of an appetite since Nigel's death.

She chose to walk to her destination. It helped to dispel the energy that coursed through her, pushing her to do something—anything.

It was early enough that the streets were almost empty. Sydney was glad of that; it made less distractions as she steadily made her way to her goal.

Robert Williams owned a small house in a quiet part of the town, cut off from the world by some very ancient trees and some tall bushes. As Sydney opened the gate, she thought it looked more like a fairytale cottage than the home of a known thief. She almost expected to see children playing in the yard and wild deer eating in the nearby garden.

Instead, the place was still. In the early morning gloom, cheery lights shone from the window. Almost as if everything were normal—as if Nigel's death didn't matter.

Sydney clenched her fist. It would matter to him soon enough.

Sydney strode boldly to the door. Without even trying the knob, she aimed a kick at ancient wood. As if it had been waiting for her, the door flew open, banging against the wall beyond.

She strode boldly through the house, looking for her prey. She found him in a small study/library. Williams was a small, rat-faced man with thinning hair and small, dark eyes. He looked up as Sydney entered and his skin paled.

Sydney smiled at him ferally, showing her teeth, and he blanched further.

Rising, he said, “Sydney Fox. To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

“Victor, Bobby. Where is he?”

“Victor?” The man feigned confusion. “Victor who?”

“I don't have time for this.”

Sydney stalked closer, heat coming to her cheeks. Williams looked like he wanted to take a step back, but he held his ground.

With only the desk between them, Sydney repeated her question through clenched teeth. “Where is Victor, Bobby?”

“Sydney, I don't...”

She reached quickly out for him, striking like a snake. Before Williams even had a chance to move, she had pulled him forward by his collar until his face was just inches from hers.

“Wrong answer.”

“Sydney, be reasonable.”

“I am not leaving until you tell me where Victor is...and you are going to tell me, if I have to force you by breaking every bone in your body.”

She gave a hard tug, bringing the thief across the desk. With a twitch of her arms, he was lying on the floor at her feet.

“Sydney...”

“He was here, Bobby. I know he was here. I've been following him for a week. The only reason for him to be in town would be to see you. You know where he is.”

Williams shook his head, so Sydney punched him. Hard. She felt her knuckle split under the impact of flesh against tooth, but she didn't feel the pain.

“Would you like to try again?”

The blood on his face wasn't only hers. He had fallen backwards from the blow, and Sydney could see a cut on his lip. As he struggled to rise, she saw that his small eyes had widened.

“Are you going to tell me what I want to know, or will I have to start breaking...things?”

He just stared at her, fear dappling sweat across his forehead. Williams had never been a physical person. He preferred to strike by surprise in the dark.

Sydney grabbed him, pulling him up until the desk was biting into his back. Then, she raised one eyebrow.

“He...he was here...”

“Good. Now, we're getting somewhere.” She loosed one hand to pat his cheek.

With surprising agility, Williams used this moment to twist away from her and try for the door. He was quick, but Sydney was more so. She whirled, kicking him in the back and dropping him to the floor. He let out a groan and tried to roll away.

Sydney was already at his side, holding him down with her arms and then using her body. They struggled for several moments, but when the scuffle was over, she was sitting on top of him, pinning him to the floor. With one hand, she held his wrists in a grip of iron; the other she was using to hold his jaw. The bones beneath it felt deceptively fragile.

“Are we done playing?” she hissed.

“Sydney, please, please, don't hurt me.”

“Then tell me what I want to know.”

“Victor...Victor was here.”

“I know that much. Where is he going?”

“He had a relic with him. A famous relic...a stone the size of a man's hand.”

Sydney nodded and loosened her grip on his jaw slightly.

“Where was he taking it?”

“A private collector in the States has offered him millions for it. He was going there to sell it.”

She waited but he didn't offer any more.

“Where in the States? What buyer?” she growled.

He shook his head, her hand had loosened enough to allow it. “They'll kill me.”

“If you don't tell me, I'll kill you.”

“Sydney, you would not...”

She leaned forward until she was close enough to kiss him if she had wanted to. Very softly, she whispered, “Try me.”

“Boudreau,” he gasped.

Sydney sat back quickly. “Grant Boudreau?”

“I think so...yes.”

“If you're lying to me...”

“No, I'm not. I swear.”

She glared at him for several moments, trying to tear the truth from his eyes. She detected no lie.

“Fine,” she said. She knew where to find Grant Boudreau.

Then, she lashed out with her fist, her knuckles plowing into Williams's face and ramming his head into the floor. The man went limp under her hands.

“Nice doing business with you.”

XXX

Karen stood in the thin fog, Nigel's brother Preston beside her. The fog made the graveside seem isolated and the scattered people gathered for the service seemed the only people in existence. Many people had known and cared for Nigel Bailey, and Karen only knew a handful of them. She felt very alone as she watched Nigel's casket being lowered into the ground.

Emotion made her reach for Preston, who gently took her hand. Karen glanced up to see tears glistening on the British man's cheeks.

“Now I have no one,” he whispered.

And Karen knew how he felt. She was suddenly taken back to another funeral. One where a small boy sobbed beside her, and Karen had all she could do just to hold herself together for him.

She squeezed Preston's hand and whispered back, “I've been there.”

Then, it was over. Several sympathizers came over and told Preston how beautiful a service it was. Karen might have agreed if it hadn't been Nigel they were placing in the ground.

Unable to meet the kind gazes, Karen's eyes wandered, and she saw a tiny blond kneel by Nigel's grave. Karen thought she heard the blond whisper, “Good bye, honeybun,” but she couldn't be sure. For some reason, the voice and the face seemed vaguely familiar.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Preston asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“Can you recommend a cheap hotel?”

“Why don't you stay with me?”

She looked at him in surprise, “But you don't even know me.”

“I know that you need a place to sleep. I know I'm probably the only person you're acquainted with in London. I know Nigel considered you a good friend.”

Karen studied his face, trying to figure out if there were ulterior motives to his offer. His face seemed honest and open, and maybe even a trifle naïve. Though the brothers didn't look alike, Karen suddenly saw Nigel's likeness in Preston. Blinking away tears, she nodded.

As they made their way to his car, he asked, “Do you need help with your things?”

“No. I only brought one small bag. I'll be fine.”

He accepted this and changed the subject. “Have you heard from Sydney?”

A new rush of tears prickled Karen's eyelids. It really had been like losing two of her best friends at once.

“No.”

“I hope she's all right.”

Karen dashed away the tears with a shaking hand. “You and me both.”

XXX

Sydney stood in the shadows and watched Grant Boudreau's mansion. Her prey was there. She had arrived just in time to see two of Grant Boudreau's thugs admit him through the big doors in the front.

The sight of him made Sydney want to rush in, disregarding everything but her thirst for revenge, but practicality won out. She knew that it would be impossible to go in and kill Martin with all of Boudreau's men around. Vengeance would have to wait.

Not that Sydney had to like it. She fiddled silently with her dagger, her eyes glued to the door. Her thoughts, as they often did, drifted to Nigel. He would have hated the waiting. Nigel liked his danger over quickly. Not that he was a coward—Nigel was the bravest man Sydney had ever known. He was often afraid, but he stared his fear in the face and never let it win.

God, she missed him. His loss was an aching, burning hole in her chest. She thought of him constantly, what he would be doing, what he would say. Even in sleep, there was no relief because her dreams were all of him.

Sydney wiped a hand over her forehead, wishing she could wipe away grief as easily as she wiped away sweat.

She grit her teeth, pushing away memories of Nigel, both good and bad, knowing they would distract her. Embracing her anger, she let it once more burn away the pain. She closed her eyes, opening herself to it, allowing it free reign. 

Her life was vengeance. Her soul was revenge. What she had done to DeViega only in thoughts, she would do to Martin in reality. He would die. Painfully. Horribly. His blood would drip down her skin like tears. She might go to hell for it, but she would see him there first.

A caricature of a smile flashed across her face, and a spark of frigid joy came to her eyes. She had imagined Martin's death so many times that the fantasy was almost as real as the rough bark poking her through her shirt.

It seemed to take Victor Martin hours to emerge from Grant Boudreau's house, though it must have only been about thirty minutes. At one time, Sydney would have cared that Martin sold the Heart for his own gain, but not any more. When Victor finally emerged, he seemed unaware of Sydney, which was fine by her. She knelt quietly and slid her knife back into its sheath. The hiss it made seemed loud in the silence, and Sydney froze. He didn't even turn around.

She continued to watch him, a spider coolly regarding a fly. Her eyes saw the subtle bulge in his jacket showing he was carrying a gun. Probably the gun that had killed Nigel.

The urge to lash out almost overwhelmed her, but still she held back. Soon a cab came up the long and winding drive. Martin got in, and, as he closed the door, Sydney heard him give the driver an address.

“Now, I've got you,” she whispered.

Nearby, an owl hooted, its voice sounding almost like it was calling Martin's name, and Sydney's heart started to race.

It was time.

XXX

The address given by Martin was nearby, so Sydney walked instead of taking a cab. The cool night air brushed against her skin and tousled hair she hadn't bothered to braid. Despite the fact that it didn't matter now if she were seen, Sydney kept to the shadows. Her heart, the part that she still allowed to speak, craved darkness. She had become so skilled at moving through it over the years that most of the people she passed were unaware of her existence.

Anticipation burned within her, hurrying her steps as she neared her goal. Soon, it would be over.

The hotel was a large one, modern and severe. A red clad doorman helped people with suitcases and packages, and a gold colored awning kept him from the weather.

As he helped an elderly lady with her bags, Sydney slipped by him, enjoying the employment of stealth. Though self preservation didn't interest her, a part of her was satisfied that the doorman would not even remember she was there.

Once inside, she paused. The hotel was a very busy place. People were scurrying like ants. Even so, she knew the clerk would probably remember her, no matter how busy he was, if she went to him and asked for Victor Martin's room. For one thing, he probably wasn't allowed to give out room numbers; for another, she knew that her heritage had given her unique and memorable features. This had often been useful in the past but at times, like now, it had been more of a curse.

After a moment of contemplation, she decided to try something she had seen in a Remington Steele episode once and made a beeline for the nearest phone. The hotel had its own florist so, using Claudia's credit card, knowing her friend could always report it as unauthorized use, and not wanting to use her own, Sydney ordered a half dozen lilies to be delivered to Martin's room. Then, she followed as the delivery man did his job.

The plan worked perfectly and, within minutes, Sydney found herself staring at Martin's door. She just stood there, knowing she should be feeling something. Her anticipation and anger had drained away, leaving her numb and empty. She wondered if there would be triumph and joy at Martin's soul's release, or whether this emptiness would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She shrugged this off and moved on silent feet to Victor Martin's door. When she tried the knob, it turned, which made her frown in puzzlement. A man who made as many enemies as Martin should know better. Even so, it was fortuitous for her.

Martin heard the door open and turned as Sydney entered. For the first time since Nigel's death, Sydney stood eye to eye with Victor Martin. Brown glared into blue. Blue looked mildly amused. Sydney felt anticipation grip her again as she imagined that amusement turning to pain. With satisfaction, part of Sydney's mind registered that Martin had discarded his jacket.

“Sydney,” he said, his deep voice grating, “how nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Victor.” She was surprised her voice was steady. Though, as long as her hand was steady, that was all that mattered.

She deliberately bent and slowly drew the knife from her boot. The rasp as its sheath released it filled the air between Sydney and Martin.

“Why have you deigned to bless me with your presence?” There was subtle mockery in his face and in the politeness of his voice.

“Nigel,” she answered simply, her hand gripping the knife more tightly.

“Ni...? Oh, the kid. Your assistants used to be a lot more muscular, Syd. Joe was built like stone...though, I must admit, he was as thick as it as well.”

Sydney ground her teeth, preparing to strike.

“We both know that you won't hurt me, Sydney,” he said soothingly. “You would never kill a man in cold blood. It's not in you.”

“It's not?” she asked menacingly, already imagining how it would feel when her knife bit into his flesh. She wanted to see him bleed, to feel his pain. It would pour from him and fill the empty place in her soul. His life was all she could take from him. It didn't compare with what he had taken from her, but it would have to do.

She smiled at him, putting all of her intent in her eyes. He regarded her for a moment, and his eyes widened. Some of the certainty drained from his face, and Sydney saw the flicker of it in his eyes. She smiled wider, showing her teeth. What would his death look like? What would it feel like? Would he die silently or would he scream?

“Listen, Sydney,” she heard the fear in his voice and it gratified her. “I'm sorry the kid died. It was an unfortunate side effect. Certainly, he couldn't be worth this.”

_He was everything, you bastard!_ she wanted to spit at him but clenched her jaw against the words. She would not show him what he'd taken from her. He did not deserve to see her pain. The only thing he deserved to see was her anger. And his own death.

At Sydney's continued silence, more of the man's certainty fled. Though he was a large man, she could tell that the last thing he wanted was to fight her.

Martin's eyes darted to the bed, which had his jacking drooping off the edge. Sydney knew she could never let him reach it. If she did, she'd be as dead as Nigel.

In his brief second of inattention, Sydney lept for him. He hadn't expected it, but managed to clumsily block the blow.

The two of them tumbled to the floor, wrestling for possession of Sydney's knife. Sydney was more flexible and fueled by anger, but Martin had a definite weight advantage. He rolled them over and knocked the knife out of her grip. Then, he leered at her.

Expecting her to be cowed, he wasn't holding her quite as tightly as he should have been. With a wriggle and a sharp wrench, she managed to free her arm and punch him in the side of the head. He fell off of her, and Sydney struggled to her feet.

Martin rose and grabbed her from behind, so she viciously swung back with her elbow. Something crunched as it connected with his face.

“Damn you,” she heard him hiss as his arms loosened.

She went for her knife but hadn't yet reached it when Martin managed to stand. She whirled as he approached, fully prepared to beat him to death with her bare hands.

He lashed at her. Sydney ducked and lashed back, her fist scoring solidly on his cheek. He stumbled, so she followed with her other fist to his stomach. Martin bent double, and Sydney came down hard with her elbow to the back of his head.

He fell to his knees and shook his head, trying to clear it. Sydney let out a growl and kicked him, knocking him backwards. He hit the floor with a solid thud, moaned, and went still.

Watching him warily, Sydney bent and picked up her dagger. When he remained motionless, she dropped to her knees beside him, studying his features. Anticipation fluttered in her belly like lust, and she paused a moment to let it wash over her. She had been looking forward to this for so long that she could already feel her knife slicing through his tender flesh, letting his lifeblood leak out onto the neat gray carpet.

It was at that moment that she decided to go slowly. Her dagger would part his skin, leaving ragged ruin in its wake. If even part of his mind was conscious, his death would bring him suffering.

Her hand trembled as she brought the blade to his throat, whispering fiercely, “This is for Nigel.”

“No.”

The voice was soft, but it was enough to cut through Sydney's bloodlust. She froze, the hammering of her heart loud in her ears.

Blinking, she turned. A startled cry came from her as she stared at a face she thought she'd never see again. Crouching beside her, close enough to touch, was Nigel. His hazel eyes regarded her sadly.

“Nigel?” she finally managed to get out through her tight throat.

“You don't want to do this.” His voice was as sad as his eyes; Sydney had to look away.

“But he killed you,” she said, her voice choked and stumbling.

“I know, Sydney,” he replied, placing a hand on her arm. Though he looked solid and real, all she felt was a tingling where his skin met hers. “But killing him won't bring me back. It will just make things worse.”

“Things can't get any worse. You're dead, and I'm stuck in a life without you. I don't care what happens to me. I just want him to hurt.”

“Then call the police. He'll suffer in prison, and you won't go somewhere you can never return from.”

“I just want you back.” She felt tears start to trickle down her cheeks. “I want you to come back to me.”

“I can't, Syd, but don't use me as an excuse to ruin your life. I don't want that responsibility.”

With a sob, Sydney let her dagger fall from numb fingers. She bowed her head, and the rest of the sobs came, overwhelming everything but her sense of loss and grief. She couldn't reach for the anger to protect her; it was no longer there. Nigel's simple words reminded her of why he had thought so much of her, and she couldn't bare to think of disappointing him, even after death.

With no anger to fight them, the sobs tore through her chest, ripping at the hole Nigel's death had made. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel the pain, and she cried for Nigel and everything that had been stolen from her. She hadn't even had the chance to tell him she loved him.

Sydney sat there crying for a very long time. She cried until her body was sore and there were no tears left to shed. She cried for the boy she'd seen blossom into a man; she cried for the years they would never have together; she cried for the joy he had brought to her life. Most of all, Sydney cried for herself, a woman who was scared and crippled by grief, a woman who had no idea where to go from here.

Eventually, feeling raw and empty, Sydney came back to herself. Martin was still unconscious on the floor, but she could tell he was alive by the rise and fall of his chest.

The two of them were alone. Nigel was gone, and he hadn't even said good-bye. Sydney knew she'd never see him again.

Wearily, she took out her phone and turned it on. Sniffling a little, she dialed the authorities and spoke to them at length. Then, she got up on shaky legs and stumbled out the door, not once looking back.

The End


End file.
